Tattered and Torn

Scarlet eyes, a doorway to her soul.
She closes it from the world,
behind a heavy lid,
a thick lash line,
a Vampire’s threshold.

Her pupils,
stare into dreams that blur as nightmares from her past.
That canvas white of rolled eyes,
allows you to paint,
a picture,
a fright,
a lust,
a soul to delight your imagination.
Those dreams overflow with emotion.


They fight,
they battle,
from love,
for love,
because of love.

Her waterlines flood,
spill out her iris,
her heart.
She cups her chest,
so it does not break apart.

The pain cascades through her,
the want becomes unbearable
desire uncontrollable,
the function is mindless without her.

Her nightmare now becomes
your dream,
your desire,
your fire.
Tattered and torn.
The noir shadows,
the battle dust to war

Her great white hair,

a stand,

a cape,
her veil,
her belief to storms weathered.

A survivor,
an elder.

Refocuses your thought from hardened youth,
to a sleepless whore,
repeated encounters.
A soldiers past,
a Sergeant,
a General of her craft.

Her purity is soiled from the roughness of concrete.
Inside she remains soft as silk,
a kitten lapping milk.
the night encounters her to climb the stairway.
With naked breasts,
hueless eyes,
that cadaverous body,
tattered torn,
as your succubus,
is born


Photo credit : 2013 Luis Royo. March 2014 Calendar.

3 thoughts on “Tattered and Torn

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s